No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 4

Leon

Monday, I sit at "my" desk, staring at the screen, pretending to go over research notes while my mind races. Amber. She’s onto me, I can feel it. Every time she looks at me, it’s like she’s waiting for me to slip up, to show my hand. She may not have proof yet, but that woman’s intuition is dangerous. If I’m not careful, she’ll figure it out, and all of this will have been for nothing.

I clench my jaw, trying to focus. Chris Redfield had warned me that working undercover at Umbrella would be a nightmare, but I didn’t expect it to be like this. They’ve kept me on such a tight leash, I can barely breathe without someone watching. Even when Amber isn’t looking over my shoulder, it feels like she is.

I check my phone under the desk. There’s a message from Chris. I trust him with my life—one of the few people I know has my back no matter what. We’ve been through hell together, so when he vouched for me to the BSAA and Stratcom to take this undercover job, I knew I couldn’t let him down. But damn, I’m giving them nothing. I’ve barely been able to gather any useful information. Umbrella’s sealed up tighter than I thought.

I shoot a message to my handler, giving them the usual update: Nothing significant to report. Still working on gaining their trust. It pisses me off. Every second I spend here is a waste if I can’t get something concrete, and with Amber breathing down my neck, it’s like walking on a minefield.

My fists clench as I think about it. They’re not giving me anything. Not letting me get close to anything important. They think they’re clever, but I’ve been in worse situations. I just need more time... But if Amber keeps up with this suspicion, time might be the one thing I don’t have.

I clock out at exactly 4 PM, relieved to be out of the building without Amber hovering around. Mondays are usually her late shift; I’ve noticed that from the schedules. Perfect. I don’t have to deal with her endless complaints about how unbearable I am, as if she’s got it all figured out.

It’s funny—I've tried being charming, tried to win her over, but it only seems to piss her off more. And I’ll admit, it’s kind of entertaining watching her get all worked up. Not that it makes things any easier, though. She's sharp, always digging, always suspicious, like she’s waiting for me to mess up. That alone makes her dangerous.

Not that I haven’t noticed her, though. I mean, she’s attractive—long wavy blonde hair, deep brown eyes that could probably burn a hole through me if they had the chance. But she’s always so put together, perfectly dressed for her office job, like she doesn’t even realize she’s working for pure evil.

It’s strange, seeing someone like her so deeply involved with Umbrella, as if she’s blind to the destruction they’ve caused. Part of me wonders if she even knows what they really are. But I can’t think about that. I’ve got a mission, and getting distracted by her isn’t part of it.

I shove my hands into my pockets and walk out of the building, the cold air hitting me as I step outside. Another day down, but still no closer to figuring out what the hell Umbrella’s hiding here.

The walk back to my apartment is only fifteen minutes. The cold bites through my jacket, and my hair hangs in my face, making it harder to focus as I walk. I grab a few groceries on the way, knowing I’ll probably just throw some noodles on the stove again. It’s routine by now—simple, quick, keeps me going.

When I get home, I throw my keys onto the side table near the entrance. The apartment’s big, way bigger than I need, but Stratcom’s footing the bill for the mission, so I’m not complaining. It’s nice, sterile even—feels more like a temporary hideout than a home.

I toss the noodles in the pot and start making a quick pasta dish while my mind drifts back to work. Amber's been breathing down my neck ever since I started, and with nothing to show for all this undercover crap, I need a breakthrough. Something—anything—that'll keep the BSAA and Stratcom off my back.